


Keeping Secrets

by Somniare



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Case Fic, Community: lewis_challenge, Established Relationship, International Fanworks Day 2015, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-12 04:44:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3344066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Somniare/pseuds/Somniare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“This isn’t performance art gone wrong, is it, James?”</i>
  <br/><i>“It’s not performance art, sir, but something’s definitely gone wrong,” James murmured.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keeping Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Lewis_Roulette  
> Prompt song was Red 36: [You're The One That I Want by Olivia Newton-John and John Travolta](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7oKPYe53h78)
> 
> Many thanks to my beta and Brit-picker. I’ve tried not to tinker too much, however, all mistakes, fluffs, and goofs are mine.

 

* * *

 

 

Lewis turned off the main road and followed the unpaved access way a hundred metres or so to what passed for a car park.  He pulled up in the space between two police cars and a black Yamaha motorcycle.  A slightly battered Vectra stood beyond the motorcycle.  Lewis recognised the Vectra as one of the station pool cars. That’d be James, he thought glumly.  James’s own car had been rammed during a raid two weeks earlier, and was still in the garage for repairs.  Fortunately, neither he nor Lewis had been in the car at the time.  Lewis huffed softly.  If he hadn’t been caught in a meeting with the ACC, he and James could have come out together, saving James the hassle of signing out the vehicle.

A carefully painted sign in front of Lewis read ‘Gallery’.  Beyond that, Lewis saw six shipping containers placed in a line in joined pairs, heading down towards the river: two white, a space large enough for a container, two blue, another wide space, and then two red.  James, dressed in a scene suit, walked over to meet Lewis as he got out of the car.  He handed a second plastic-wrapped suit to Lewis.

“You always give me the nicest things, James.”

“That’s my generous nature, sir.”

Lewis set about donning the protective garment.  Anyone who thought onesies were a fun idea had never had to struggle into a Tyvek one.

With his head bowed as he pulled the elasticated cuffs over his shoes, Lewis addressed James’s feet.  “It was a bit of a shock this morning, waking to an empty bed and an empty flat.”  He tried to keep his voice light.

With James's car off the road, James had spent most of the past fortnight at Lewis's, in his home and in his bed.  Though they were only six months into this new stage of their relationship, the experience had prompted Lewis to suggest they consider making the arrangement permanent.  When he'd woken to a silent, empty flat, he feared he'd said too much too soon.

“I left you a note.”

Lewis looked up to see James’s puzzled frown.  “You could have woken me, pet,” he said quietly, aware others were around.  “I would have driven you over instead of... How did you get home?”

“Jogged until I saw a taxi.  You looked peaceful; I didn’t have the heart to wake you.”

"Daft sod.”  Lewis’s voice was fond.  “How's your flat?”

James’s note had described an early morning text message from his landlord informing him there'd been a burst pipe in the flat above him overnight, and to check and advise of any water damage ‘asap’.

“Fine.  The water couldn't have been running for too long, but they're sending someone around in a day or so for a proper inspection.”

“Good, good.  Now, can you explain to me how this is a gallery,” Lewis asked.  “What happened to large spaces with lots of light?”

“Modern art, sir.”  James pointed to a sign on the red containers; it was too far away for Lewis to have any hope of reading.  “These installations _are_ the gallery.”

The doors to the containers were all chained and locked, except for the far left hand side door of the red containers.  The sign James had pointed to was attached to its partner.  A white suited officer stepped out of the open door, followed by a man of average height and build, dressed completely in black.  He looked haunted.  A second officer came out after him.

“What do we know so far?” Lewis asked.

James referred to his notebook.  “The victim is Shelley Lang, aged 22, in her final year of Fine Arts at Lady Matilda's.  She was found by Gerald Thompson,” James pointed at the dark clothed man. “--who’d come out to meet with her.  His call came in at 12.30pm; PCs Baines and Verne were in the area and were here a few minutes later.”

“Who else is here?”

“PCs Leeder and Reed are inside.”

“SOCO?  Pathologist?”

“A SOCO team are en route from a suicide at the airport – they’ve had to swing by the station to drop the evidence off – and we’re expecting Dr Hobson any time now; she was at the same scene, but her assistant is going to escort the body to Pathology.”

They approached the red containers.

Baines came over to meet them, peeling off the scene suit as he did so.  He nodded a greeting to Lewis, and addressed Hathaway.  “We all right to go, sir?”

James cleared his throat and leant towards Lewis.  “I made the call to have Baines and Verne take Thompson back to the station to make a formal statement.  I don't think we'll get much more out of him while he's here. He was quite distressed when I arrived.”

“Good idea.  He doesn’t look much better now,” Lewis murmured.  He raised his voice to answer Baines.  “Aye.  Get him settled, and we’ll be along as soon as we’re done here.”

Allowing the three men to pass, Lewis slipped on the shoe covers and stepped inside the container, his footsteps echoing dully.  PC Leeder stood just inside the doorway, his suit rustling as he greeted Lewis.  The interior was lit by a column of eight four-foot fluorescent tubes, centred on the left hand side wall directly opposite an opening in the wall of the container which gave access to the second container.  A bicycle rested against the wall near the lights.  Underneath the column, a motorcycle helmet and a bicycle helmet sat on a low bench.  In the stark glare of the lights, PC Reed stood out like a sore thumb; the white of his suit glowed.  Lewis felt James step behind him and heard the soft swish of Tyvek against Tyvek.

“This isn’t performance art gone wrong, is it, James?”

“It’s not performance art, sir, but something’s definitely gone wrong,” James murmured.

They stopped in front of the opening.  The fluorescent glow illuminated the upper body of a young woman.  She was lying face down, and her eyes stared blankly at the door.  Her hair was pulled back in a thick, dark braid which curled across her back.  A small blood pool spread out from underneath her body.  Lewis sighed. 

The far wall held an array of blackened television screens.  A ladder stood side on, about a metre away from the wall of glass.  The positioning was odd, as there was nothing above the ladder that someone would need to access, and stretching that distance to the screens would be uncomfortable for someone as tall as James, never mind the petite figure on the floor.  She could have been moving the ladder when she was attacked, Lewis thought, or it could have been set up for a second person to use.  Not Gerald Thompson though.

Lewis stood to one side of the door to allow as much light into the installation space as possible.  The fluorescent glow failed to reach the far corners of the container.  Shelley Lang’s face was chalk white under the harsh lighting, her lips almost grey.  Lewis stepped through the doorway, keeping to one side.

“Can you see a light switch anywhere, James?  We’re not going to see anything – BLOODY HELL!”

Lewis had taken a step further in and was assaulted with sound and light as the installation came to life.

_You're the one that I want,  
You are the one I want_

“James, chase after Baines and Thompson.  Find out from Thompson how to switch that off,” Lewis rumbled, hastily stepping back out.

_Oo-oo-oo, honey_

James spun on his heel and jogged out of the container-cum-gallery.  The wall of screens blazed.  PC Reed had his fingers in his ears and was walking towards the door.

_The one that I want  
You are the one I want_

Lewis pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes tightly shut.  It reduced the glare of the images bursting through the wide opening, but did nothing to stop the repetitive bleating blaring through and echoing around him.

_Oo-oo-oo, honey_

It almost made him sentimental for the months Lyn had had Mariah-bloody-Carey on an endless loop.  Lewis opened his eyes and saw spots and flashes. 

_The one that I want  
You are the one I want_

“Come on, James,” Lewis muttered as he headed for the open door and daylight.

_Oo-oo-oo, the one I need  
Oh, yes, in–_

Calm darkness.  Blissful silence.  The fluorescent lights had also gone off, and he could hear them click and tick.

“Thank God for that.”

In the darkness, Lewis could still see the images from _Grease_ which had been playing on the screens.  The colours were reversed, and intensified when he shut his eyes.  The central screen matched the song, while the other screens had shown different scenes from the movie.  He used to have fond memories of _Grease_ – he’d seen it at the pictures with Val four times.  Lewis blinked rapidly to clear his vision and made his way carefully to the open door.

Stepping into the daylight, Lewis looked for James, turning at the crunch of shoes on stones, and James appeared from behind the red containers.  He had the shoe covers in one hand, and was frowning.

“What’s up?” Lewis asked.

James waved at the containers.  “Did that seem… gimmicky… to you?  For a final-year student?”

“You’re asking me about modern art?”  Lewis raised an eyebrow.

“I’m no expert, either,” James said, “but I’ve been to the Ruskin Degree Show for the past three years, and this feels… amateurish, by comparison.”

“Perhaps that’s a question we can ask Mr Thompson.”  Laura’s car and a police van appeared on the narrow access road.  They pulled up to stop in the car park.  “Let’s see what Laura and SOCO come up with, and then we can head back to the station to see what Mr Thompson had to say.”  They moved towards the car park.  “How’d you stop the installation, by the way?”

“The site has a temporary power supply.  I turned off the switch marked ‘Red’.”

***

Once SOCO had set up their lights, it was almost as bright inside as out.

Lewis and James watched from the door as the search of the shipping container got under way.  When the photographer had completed the first series of images, Laura slipped her hands under Shelley Lang’s shoulder and gradually lifted her, rolling her onto her back and the waiting body bag.  Under the lights, a wound in Shelley’s chest was clearly visible against the light coloured top she wore.

“Robbie.”  Laura looked around, gestured to Lewis, and then reached for an evidence bag.  “Do you know if the victim was involved with someone?”

“No-one’s said anything.”  He looked to James, who shook his head.  “Why?”

Laura carefully picked something out of the blood pool and held it towards one of the lights.  “It’s too modest for an engagement ring: a promise ring, perhaps.”

Laura dropped the delicate ring into an evidence bag and handed it to the waiting SOCO.  James’s phone shrilled loudly and he beat a hasty retreat for the door.

Lewis crouched down beside her.  “Cause of death?”

“Single stab wound to the chest, possibly piercing the heart.  Not a knife, though.  Something… rounder; screwdriver, perhaps.  I’ll know more after the post mortem, but her body temperature and the lack of any obvious defensive wounds suggests a sudden, lethal attack less than an hour ago.”

“Thanks, Laura.”  He rose slowly to his feet.

“There’s more, Robbie.  I’d say the weapon was removed after she’d been lying on the floor.  Had it been a single thrust, in and out, I’d expect to see a larger blood pool, and some sort of cast off or spray pattern.”

Lewis frowned.  Did the killer come back for the weapon?  Did someone else remove the weapon?  Was that why Gerald Thompson was so shaken?  Was he their killer, or had he seen something or someone?  It wouldn’t be the first time a murderer had called the police, arrogantly confident in their ability to outwit the police.

“Post mortem will probably be later this afternoon,” Laura continued.  “I’ll let you know the results.”

“Sir?”  James’s silhouette appeared in the doorway.  Lewis joined him outside.  “Verne’s advised they’re requesting CCTV footage from two pubs on the road which have cameras that cover the entrance to the access road – one’s about 100 metres south, the other around 300 metres in the opposite direction.”

“Let’s hope we get something.”  He pulled at the zipper on his suit, shrugging it off his shoulders.  “Time to talk to Gerald Thompson and see if he can shed any light on events.”

***

Lewis looked at Thompson across the table as he sat in the interview room, shivering in a scene suit.  The clothes Thompson had been wearing had been taken for forensic examination, along with gloves and a scarf found in the pannier of his motorcycle.

“Mr Thompson?”  Lewis had asked him twice to recount the events of the afternoon.

“Sorry.”  Thompson took a deep breath.  “Shelley and I were due to meet at noon; the exhibition opens tomorrow and she’d been having some technical issues.  I was running a bit late.”  He blinked up at Lewis.  “I knew she was there as I could hear the music.  Um, I went in, saw her bike in the usual spot, and went through to see how she was… and…”  All the colour drained from his face.  He swallowed, and his head drooped and he turned away.  “I saw her…”

“Can you describe what you saw?”

“She was on the floor, lying on her stomach.”  Thompson spoke haltingly.  “She was looking at me.  I held out a hand to help her up but she didn’t move, so I… I crouched down and I… ah, gave her a shake.”  He exhaled slowly and heavily.  “She, ah… I pulled on her shoulder, and...”  He shuddered.  “I called 999.”

Patience and silence often lead to disclosure.  Lewis waited.  Thompson remained silent.

“Were you aware of anyone else who was expected to be on site that morning?”

“No.  Jeremy and Philip completed their installations yesterday.  Their containers had been locked and they’d given me their keys.”

“Did you see anyone in the area at all?”

The pause was brief.  “No.  I didn’t… no.  There was just Shelley.”

Lewis sat back slightly, a signal to James to take over.

“Was this work part of Miss Lang’s degree?”  There was genuine curiosity in James’s voice.

With the unexpected switch in questioning, Thompson blinked from Lewis to James.  “No.  It was all meant to be a bit of fun really, seeing who could create the most impressive installation using only found or borrowed materials.  I still don’t know how Shelley convinced thirteen people to part with their tellies for nearly a month.”

“A bit of fun?  Who’s paying for the containers and the power supply?  That can’t be cheap.”

“What does that have to do with what happened to Shelley?”

“We have to consider all the factors, Mr Thompson,” James replied smoothly.  “Until we can see the whole picture, we don’t always know what is or isn’t relevant.”

“Oh.”  Thompson blinked again.  “It’s a semi-permanent facility.  The school would rather see it used than sit empty.  As long as we leave everything in the same condition as we found it, they’ll let us use it a sort of in-kind contribution towards the exhibition.”

“So no-one was going to be out of pocket.”

“As long as we didn’t damage anything, no.”

“When Inspector Lewis stepped into the room, it was as though someone had flipped a switch.  Everything–”

“There’s a motion sensor.  Shelley was probably testing it.  It activates the installation, and then if there’s no movement in the room for five minutes it shuts down again.”

“Did you know what Miss Lang’s installation was about?”  At a small nudge from James, Lewis had taken over again.

“Er…”  Thompson’s head swivelled again.  “A bit. I knew it involved a song from _Grease_ – she was worried she wouldn’t get permission to use the clips and music in time for the exhibition.”

“Had she?”

“She was using it, so I guess she had.”

“Who else knew about Shelley’s installation, that you were aware of?”

Thompson looked off to the side. “Meg Chambers, probably, one of her tutors.  I think Shelley told her most things.”

“Mr Thompson, can you think of anyone who would want to hurt Shelley Lang?”

“No.”  It was almost a plea.  Lewis waited for Thompson to tell them how much Shelley was loved, that he couldn’t imagine anyone harming her.  He didn’t.  Lewis had a sense Thompson knew more than he’d said so far; however, Lewis felt that way about most people on the wrong side of the interview table.

They left Thompson with PC Verne to await the transcript of his interview so Thompson could sign it.  He couldn’t be charged as there was no evidence against him at that point, and as Lewis’s gut was telling him that although they weren’t getting the whole truth, he couldn’t see Thompson as the killer.

They’d have to wait and see what the evidence told them.  In the meantime, there were other tasks to consider.

***

Lewis sipped his tea while James concluded a phone call.

James replaced the receiver with deliberate care and exhaled heavily.  “Shelley’s parents are on their way from Gloucester, and her sister’s coming up from London.”

“Sad business.”

“Gloucester Police spoke to the Langs; if Shelley was worried about anything, or afraid of anyone, she never let on to them.”

“We could have a wee chat with the sister when she gets here.  Siblings often know things parents don’t.”

James made a non-committal sound.  “With the family informed, we should probably go out to Lady Matilda’s.”

“You want to drive?”

***

James tapped the steering wheel impatiently, waiting for the lights to change.  “Gerald Thompson stated the installation would shut down after five minutes if there was no movement in the room – I suppose that’ll be easy enough to check – and he also said it was playing when he got there.  So–”

“So whoever killed Shelley had been inside with her less than five minutes before Thompson arrived,” Lewis concluded.

“Unless it was Thompson who killed her.”  James accelerated steadily on the green light.

“Then why tell us the installation was running at all?  If he wanted to deflect attention from himself, he’d have been better off saying it was off, or it started when he entered the room.  He had time to think things through before we got there.”  Lewis watched James’s reaction.

“Because… he’s telling the truth, and Shelley was dead when he arrived.”  James kept his eyes on the traffic.  “Perhaps he realised how close he came to seeing her killer.”

“And if he’s lying, and it’s all a ruse?”

“Then he’s going to slip up sooner rather than later.”

***

The Porter – Ms Alice Jones, according to her name tag – studied Lewis and Hathaway warily.

“You’ll find Professor Chambers in her rooms at the top of the North stairs.”

“Thank you.”  Lewis led the way across the quad.  He measured his pace to let James walk beside him.  “Porters see everything, don’t they?”

“If they don’t see it, they’ll soon find out what’s going on.”

“We’ll find out what Ms Jones knows after we’ve spoken to the professor.”

Lewis considered Lady Matilda’s.  He associated this place with too much personal loss and hoped this case wouldn’t bring him more.

The door to Professor Chambers’s rooms was open, and either the professor wasn’t alone, or she’d been a child prodigy.  Curled up in an armchair, in a direct line with the door, was a young woman.  Her fair hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she’d been crying.  Lewis knocked, and she started.  Another woman appeared from behind the door.  Fair skinned, with dark blonde hair, Lewis placed her in her early fifties, though he’d been wrong before. 

“Professor Chambers?”  She indicated she was.  “I’m DI Lewis, and this is DS Hathaway.”  Behind Meg Chambers, the young woman dropped her feet to the floor and started to wipe her face.  “Apologies for the interruption, but we’d like to ask you some questions about one of your students.”

“One of mine?  Oh.”  Her shoulders slumped.  “Please don’t tell me Patrick’s been streaking across Port Meadow again.”

The young woman rose to her feet in a fluid, graceful movement.

“I should go, Meg.  You’ve been very kind.”  Unfolded from the chair, she was almost as tall as Lewis, and more slender than Hathaway. 

Meg Chambers pulled her down into a hug.  “Look after yourself, Corinne.  I’m sure everything will be fine.”

Corinne gave a half-hearted smile and left, pulling the door closed behind her.

“Professor Chambers–”

“Please, it’s Meg.”

“I believe you tutor Shelley Lang?”

She looked at them curiously.  “I’m one of her tutors, yes.  Is Shelley in some sort of trouble?”

“I’m sorry to inform you Miss Lang was found dead earlier this afternoon.”

“What?”  The door flew open, and Corinne stumbled in.  “Shelley’s dead?  She can’t be dead.  I saw her this afternoon.  She was fine.”

James had to move quickly to catch Corinne as she crumpled towards the floor.  He helped her to the chair she’d vacated moments earlier.  Meg knelt beside her.

“What happened?” Corinne whispered.

Lewis pulled up a second chair and sat close to the two women.

“Where did you see her, Miss…?” he asked gently.

“Lucas,” Meg supplied.  “Corinne Lucas.”

“Tell me it’s not true.”  Corinne trembled, her expression one of desperate hope.

“Were you close?”

“S’all right, Corry.”  Meg stroked Corinne’s hair, soothing her.  “Corinne and Shelley have been together for nearly two years, Inspector,” she explained to Lewis.  Meg cupped Corinne’s stricken face.  “Would you like me to tell them what you’ve just told me?”  Corinne nodded.

“Corinne,” Lewis said gently, “it would help us more if you could tell us when you last saw Shelley in your own words.”

“Perhaps some tea, Professor?” James asked.

Meg Chambers glared at James, and then gave a tight nod.  “I’m just in the next room, okay, Corry?”

Corinne gave a shaky nod.

Lewis shifted forward in the chair, moving slightly closer to Corinne.  She blinked at him.

“I was supposed to meet Shelley at the gallery at one – we were going to go out for lunch to celebrate tomorrow’s opening – but I finished up early at the Science Library and decided I might as well head over earlier.”

“Science Library?” Lewis asked.  “So you're not an artist?”

She shook her head.  “I'm reading Electrical Engineering; that's sort of how Shell and I ended up getting together.  She was looking for someone who could help her with the electrical component of a sculpture she was working on.  My dad’s an electrician, so we picked his brains, and then we worked on fine tuning it ourselves.”  The faint trace of a smile from happier times flitted across Corinne's face.

“Is that allowed?  For her coursework?”

“Yes.  My role was with the construction and safety aspects, and was clearly outlined in Shell's proposal.  The vision, design, concept, and content were all Shell's.”

“And this current installation; were you helping her with that as well?”

“No.  She said she didn’t need my help.  Today was the first time I’d been out to the gallery since she started.”

“What time did you end up getting there?”

“It was around noon.”

“That would have been a nice surprise for Shelley.”

Corinne huffed, a soft choked sound.  “You’d think so.”  Corinne twisted her fingers together and her breath caught.  “I heard the installation start up as I got to the containers.  I really wanted to see so I hurried inside.  When Shelley saw me… she blew up; she jumped off the ladder and chased me outside.  We fought.  She yelled that I should have called to tell her I’d be early.”  Her voice dropped to a whisper.  “So much for a nice surprise.”

“Was Shelley’s reaction… unusual?”

“Yes… and no.  We…we’d been fighting, recently.”

“Was there any reason for that?”

Corinne stared off to the side, her face a mask of sorrow.  “Shelley had been growing distant, being secretive.  She’d cut off phone calls if I walked into the room.  She’d suddenly change plans we’d made, saying she had to work on a piece.”

“This installation by the river?”

“I guess so.  Not that she told me anything about it.  That was the strange part, you see; Shell could talk for hours about the other pieces she’d worked on since we got together, but not this one.”

“Miss Lucas, I have to ask this question:  Did you kill Shelley?”

“No!”  A single tear rolled down her pale cheek.  “I could never hurt her.”

“Corry?”  Meg rushed into the room.  “What are you saying to her?”

James stepped around Lewis and towards the professor.  “It’s standard procedure, Professor Chambers.  Let me give you a hand with the tea.”  James guided her out of the room.

Lewis caught Corinne’s confused gaze.  “Corinne, what happened?”

“I ran away.  I got on my bicycle and I took off.  I came straight here.  Nearly two years together, and I thought I was losing her, and now…”  She swallowed, and scrubbed hard at her face with her palms.

Meg marched back into the room.  James shrugged apologetically from the other doorway.  “Corinne arrived here around quarter to one,” the professor said firmly.  “I’m sure the Porter can confirm the time for you.”

“We’ll be talking to the Porter on our way out, professor.” Lewis said firmly.  He turned back to Corinne.  “What time did you leave Shelley?”

“I... I don't know exactly.  I didn't look at my phone. I didn't know it was going to be important.”

“Did you see anyone else around?  Anything that looked out of place?”

“No.”

“Do you know Gerald Thompson?”

Corinne sniffed.  “Yes.  He’s a friend.  We both knew him.”

“Gerry’s a good bloke, Inspector.”  Meg Chambers sat herself down on a footstool next to Corinne.  “Why are you asking about him?”

“Mr Thompson found Miss Lang.”

“Oh, God.”  Corinne stared at Meg.  “Shelley was like a little sister to Gerry.  He’ll be devastated.”

“One more thing, Miss Lucas: Did Shelley wear any jewellery at all?”

“No.”

“No earring, rings, necklaces?”

“No.  Nothing.”

Lewis sat back in the chair.  He wanted to see the reaction of both women.  “Do you have any idea why she’d be found with a diamond ring?  A promise ring, our pathologist thought.”

Corinne slowly shook her head.  Meg watched Corinne.

Lewis had seen the face of someone whose world had been torn apart, and he was looking at it again on Corinne.  A quick sideways glance at James confirmed it wasn’t only Lewis’s conclusion.  While instinct told Lewis that Corinne Lucas was the most likely suspect, his gut told him instinct was leading him astray.

“Miss Lucas, I’m going to have to ask you not to leave Oxford.  We may need to speak to you again.”

Corinne nodded.  “Shelley was alive when I left her.  I could _never_ hurt her.  I loved her.”

“We’ll do everything we can to find out who killed her.”

They left Meg Chambers comforting a heart-broken Corinne.  James rang through to the station to give Julie Lockhart, who’d been tasked with reviewing the CCTV, the new information on Corinne.

“It’s not right to know such grief so young,” Lewis said sadly as he followed James down the stairs.  Stepping into the quad, he could see the Porter waiting for them.

“Is it true about Shelley Lang?” she asked when they drew closer.

“I’m afraid so.”

“Oh, dear.  She was a nice girl, most of the time.  Quiet, determined, and quite talented…according to many.”

“You don’t agree?”

“I prefer Constable and Turner.  It’s hard to believe someone would want to hurt her.  Why were you talking to Professor Chambers and Miss Lucas?”

“How did you know we were talking to Miss Lucas?”

“I’m a Porter; it’s my job.”

Lewis could hear James rolling his eyes.

“Ms Jones, we’re looking at anyone who might have been near the place Miss Lang was found, and seeing who can be eliminated from our enquiries.  What did you mean by ‘she was a nice girl most of the time’?”

Alice Jones’s expression said she didn’t trust either Lewis or Hathaway.  “She was a determined young thing, and if she thought someone was trying to interfere with her work, she could become quite… forthright.”

“From your observations, did she have any enemies?”

“Shelley?  No.”

“When did you last see Shelley, Ms Jones?”

“Yesterday afternoon.  She was with Miss Lucas.”

“You didn’t see her today at all?”

“She must have already left before I started at 8am.  Emily Lowther was the Porter on duty between midnight and 8am, so she might be able to tell you more, if you want to come back.  I was here when Corinne came back this afternoon.  Poor lass looked heartbroken, tears streaming down her face.”

“What time was that?”

“Around 12.40pm.  There was a courier delivery just beforehand and I had to record the time.”

“Did you ask her what the matter was?”

“Didn’t get a chance.”

“Was there anything amiss, apart from the tears?”

“Such as?”  She looked at Lewis and slowly across to James.  Her entire manner shifted.  “If either of you think Corinne Lucas did anything to harm Shelley, you are quite mistaken.  Corinne put her bike in the racks over there.”  She pointed over James’s shoulder where a bright purple bicycle with panniers and a front basket stood upright between the railings.  “And went up the North stair where her and Shelley’s rooms are.  And before you ask, because I know you will, Professor Chambers has been in college all day.  Would you like a copy of the security camera footage?”

“That would be very helpful.  Thank you.”

***

Lewis turned the DVD of the college’s security footage over in his hands.  “Corinne Lucas admits to being at the Gallery around the time Shelley Lang was murdered, and so far, everything points to her returning to college upset, but unmarked in any way, at 12.40.  But without knowing what time she left the gallery, we won’t know if she had time to stop and change anywhere.”

“If she left the gallery by the access road, she should be on the CCTV footage.”

“I hope so.”  Lewis rolled his head from shoulder to shoulder.  “We’ve now got two possible suspects, but I have doubts about both.”

***

“Inspector Lewis!”  The duty sergeant stopped them as they walked back into the station.  He held a file.  “I was asked to give this, and to tell you Dr Hobson would like to see you ASAP.”

“Preliminary forensics.”  Lewis flicked through the few enclosed pages as they headed through the station.  “Gerald Thompson and his clothes are clean.  Not a trace of blood anywhere, not even on the gloves.  And as for the container… the only blood was on or around the body.  The ground around the site meant people moving in and out of the containers left clear shoeprints.  There were three sets found: one each matching Shelley Lang and Thompson – hers are all over both containers, his are consistent with his story – and a third unknown set which stop just inside the second container, and go nowhere near the body.  I think it’s safe to assume they’re Corinne’s.”

“It’s not looking good for Gerald Thompson.”

“We don’t have a motive or a weapon, though SOCO are still searching the surrounding area.  If they can’t find anything on land, they’ll call in a diver.”

“Jealousy?” James suggested.  “He was interested in either Shelley or Corinne and discovered they were together.  People have killed for less.”

Lewis screwed up his nose.  “Shelley and Corinne had been together for two years, and I didn’t get a sense from Corinne that it was a secret.  I think Thompson would have known about them before now – Corinne said they were all friends – but we can ask him.”

“Maybe he tried to get Shelley to leave Corinne and they argued.”

“You’re grasping.”  Lewis handed James the file.

“There’s got to be something.”

“Not in the forensics so far.”  Lewis stopped at the stairs.  “CCTV or Laura?”

“Dr Hobson has requested our presence and has access to sharp implements.”

“Pathology it is.”

***

“She was killed by a single stab wound which pierced the heart.  The weapon was definitely a screwdriver, a Phillips head with a twelve centimetre shaft, and it was driven in with considerable force – far more force than I’d expect to see from being stabbed.”

“Explain?” Lewis asked.

“The ribs either side of the wound have been broken by the force, and the handle of the screwdriver was pressed flat against her chest hard enough to cause deep bruising and crack the ribs behind it.  Internally, that action caused the shaft to… rip an arc through her body.  It would have taken a very powerful person to inflict those injuries on her.  I’ve only seen similar injuries in car accident victims.”

Lewis winced.  James gasped.

“She would have died instantly.  She may even have been unconscious before she was stabbed.”  Lewis frowned.  He hadn’t seen any sign of a head injury.  “Miss Lang was electrocuted; you can see the burn pattern where the charge travelled up her left arm.”

“Electrocuted?”  James looked at Lewis. 

“I do have a scenario for you.”  Laura leant on the table.  “I noticed an empty light socket hanging from the ceiling above the ladder.  If Miss Lang had been working on that when she received the shock, it would have been enough to throw her from the ladder or cause her to fall.  Her injuries could have been caused by falling on the screwdriver and hitting the floor face first.  It would explain the depth of the injury, the rib breakages, and the unusual internal injury.”

“A freak accident?” Lewis said in disbelief.

Laura pressed her lips together and gave a tight nod.  “You were out, so I contacted the lead SOCO on site and ask them to have the fitting checked out.”

“And?”

“They’ll let you know what they find.”

“It could still be murder,” James said.  “She could have been stabbed, then the other injuries sustained as she fell to the floor.”

“I don’t believe so.”  Laura was certain.  “She would have collapsed almost immediately.  No matter how quickly an assailant released the handle, there would have been some degree of a tearing injury leading upwards from the stab wound as she fell, and there isn’t.  As I said, I’ve only seen penetrating and tear injuries like this in high-impact car accident victims.”

“Not a murder?”

“No.”

“You’ll stand by that?”  Lewis wasn’t questioning Laura’s ability, and from her expression she understood that.

“Yes, Robbie.  Unless someone comes up with some other as yet unknown evidence to the contrary, I’m ruling this an accidental death.  However, whoever let an unqualified person work with electricity should be charged with negligence, at the very least.”

“Thanks, Laura.”

James said what Lewis was thinking.  “It may have been an accident, but we still have to find out who removed the screwdriver and why.”

***

Lewis was still thinking over the implications of Laura’s findings when they arrived to check the progress of the CCTV review.

Julie Lockhart beamed up at them.

“Have you got something already?”

“I think so, sir.  Both pubs handed over their footage without a quibble, and because we had approximate times we had a good starting point.”  She brought up a view pointing north towards the town.  It showed Gerald Thompson arriving on his motorcycle at 12.18, just as he’d said.  A cyclist turned onto the main road as Thompson came into view.

“What’s he doing?”  James moved closer as on-screen Thompson appeared to stop and watch the cyclist’s departure.  “He said he didn’t see anyone.  And the cyclist couldn’t have missed him.”

“If they knew who he was,” Lewis countered.

Julie fast-forwarded the footage and the first police car was seen arriving at 12.35.  There was no other movement from the access road or the narrow strip of woods beyond.

The second camera, which pointed south towards the site, captured the cyclist.  The colour image wasn’t the clearest, however, Julie had managed to produce a relatively clear image of a young woman on a distinctive purple bicycle. 

“That’s Corinne,” James said accusingly.  “Thompson knew she was there and said nothing.”

“It took her around twenty minutes to get to the college,” Lewis pondered.  “She must have had a good run; it would take you that long in a car.  She did go directly back.”

“But why didn’t she say she saw Thompson?  She must have looked directly at him when she checked the road, but she doesn’t appear to acknowledge him in any way.”

Lewis sat on the edge of the desk and sighed.  “The lass was upset; she thought she was losing her girlfriend.  I think it’s safe to say her attention was elsewhere.  It’s Gerald Thompson I want to talk to: allowing time to park and go into the container where Shelley was found, he had between eight and thirteen minutes in which he could have done something before the first car got there.  That’s more than enough time to get rid of a screwdriver.”

***

Gerald Thompson hunched forward over the table.  It could have been grief or guilt curling his body and causing his eyes to dart around the room.  Or, though it was only 6pm, he could simply have been tired after the day’s events.  Both emotions were exhausting.  Lewis was beginning to feel weary himself.

“Mr Thompson, why didn’t you tell us you saw Corinne Lucas leaving the site?”

“I don’t know what you’re…”  James had placed a print of one of the CCTV images in front of Thompson.  “I don’t know who–”  The image of Corinne and her bicycle covered the first.

“Mr Thompson, our pathologist has given us her preliminary report.”  Lewis spoke quietly and patiently.  “It will be in your best interests to tell us what actually happened.”

Thompson stared at them stubbornly.

“Mr Thompson, you are aware it’s an offence to conceal a crime by removing the weapon from the scene?”

Thompson chewed on his bottom lip.

“Gerald Thompson, I’m charging you with–”

“Wait!  Yes, I… Shelley was already dead, exactly like I told you.  When I tried to get her up… that’s when I saw…  I couldn’t believe Corinne would have… I never thought she could ever do anything to hurt Shelley.”  He covered his face with his hands.

“You believed Miss Lucas had killed Miss Lang?”  Thompson nodded.  “You were trying to protect Miss Lucas?”  Another short nod.  “For the record, Mr Thompson has nodded yes to both questions.”

“What happened to the screwdriver?” James asked.

Thompson lowered his hands.  “I had a gallery flyer in my pocket.  I, ah, I folded it around the handle and…”  He swallowed hard.  “I pushed it under the container – there’s a gap between the container and the ground under the doorway – then I called the police.”

James pulled his phone from his jacket pocket and stepped outside.

“Why did you risk facing criminal charges yourself?”

“I’ve loved Corinne since… well, before she and Shelley got together.  I’d do anything for her, even though I knew I didn’t stand a chance with her.  Some narrow-minded people gave them a hard time, but they had something wonderful, you know.  It was the focus of Shelley’s inst–”  He looked wide-eyed at Lewis.

“You know more about that than you told us, don’t you?”

“I don’t know why I didn’t… yes, I do.  I thought if I kept my mouth shut, Corinne would have time to get away before you connected her to Shelley.  It was stupid, wasn’t it?”

“A bit.”

The opening door signalled James’s return.  He slipped into the chair and leant close to Lewis’s ear.  “SOCO found the screwdriver.  In addition to blood, the tip had some charring, and the light fitting appears to have short circuited.  The ceiling lights were on a separate circuit to the rest of the installation, which is why nothing seemed amiss electrically when we were in there.”

So Laura’s hypothesis was looking far more likely.  A bloody stupid accident.

“Mr Thompson, who was responsible for the electrical work at the gallery?”

“The school has an electrician on staff.  We used him to install all the necessary wiring.”

“So the artists wouldn’t be doing their own electrical work?”

“They shouldn’t, but some do.  I know Corinne has a good working knowledge, thanks to her dad, and Shelley had picked up bits and pieces…  does this have something to do with…?”

Lewis and James exchanged glances.  “Miss Lang’s death appears to have been the result of a tragic accident.”

Thompson slumped forward on the table.  “Oh, God,” he whispered.  “Shell.”

“Mr Thompson,” Lewis said, “we’ve spoken to Miss Lucas.  She told us Miss Lang was angry because she’d turned up at the gallery early, while Miss Lang was running the installation.  Can you give us any idea why?”

“It was to be a surprise for Corinne.  It was Shelley’s way of publicly declaring her commitment to Corinne.  She’d even bought Corinne a ring – not an engagement ring; Shelley called it ‘an engaged to be engaged’ ring.  She was going to dedicate the work to Corinne, and offer her the ring afterwards.  It was a bit kitschy, but Shelley said the song title said it all.”

“ _You’re The One That I Want_ ,” James murmured.

“Yes.”  Thompson blinked, and a single tear rolled down his cheek.  “Shelley’s parents were coming up for the opening.”

“They knew about Corinne, and what Shelley had planned?” Lewis asked.

“Shelley said they were really happy for her.  They’d met Corinne a couple of times and approved.”

***

Lewis and James stayed in the interview room after Thompson was escorted out.

“I’m going to make a case to CPS to not charge Thompson with trying to conceal a crime.”  Lewis scribbled a note on the file.  “He wasn’t protecting himself or anyone else.”

“He thought he was.”

“Would you charge him?”

James shook his head.  “There was no crime to conceal – not that he knew that.  CPS would have a hard time getting a prosecution.”

Lewis pushed away from the table and stood.  He pressed a hand to James’s shoulder.  “I don’t know about you, but I need a beer.”

***

James picked at the label on the bottle.  On the table beside it were the shredded remains of a cardboard drink coaster.

Lewis nudged him with his elbow.  “Don’t bottle it up.  You’re brooding and it’s putting me off me beer.”

“Sorry.”  James took a long drink.  “Unrequited love, lost love, and then the accident itself – even you have to admit it’s a little depressing.  If Corinne hadn’t arrived early, or had let Shelley know she was on the way, none of this would have happened, and they’d be celebrating tomorrow night instead of…”

“You don’t know that.  We don’t know why Shelley was working on the light fitting.  Everything may have played out exactly the same.”

“Gee.  Thanks.”  James stared deadpan at Lewis.  “That’s cheered me up.”

“Daft sod, you know what I mean: we can’t afford to second guess what may or may not have happened.  It’ll grind you into the ground if you do.”

“I know.”

They sat quietly for a few moments, watching the ebb and flow of pub patrons.

“I've got that song stuck in me head,” Lewis muttered.

“ _You're The One That I Want_?”

“I know that, bonny lad.”  Lewis's fingers brushed against James's.

A slow smile.  “The one I need.”

“You expecting me to start serenading you?”

“Would you?” James’s head tilted cheekily to one side.

“Not here.”

“Where then?”

“Your flat has a guitar and a better chef.”

“Yours has better acoustics, and it's closer.”

“There's one way we could solve this recurring dilemma.”

“Go to a karaoke bar instead?”

“Now you're being facetious.”

“You like my facetiousness.”

“Don't change the subject.  You know what I meant.”

James stared at the spot on the table where their hands sat, little fingers touching.  He breathed slowly in and out.  “Okay,” he said quietly.

“Okay, what?”

He looked at Lewis, searching his face, and then meeting his steady gaze.  “Okay, let's get a place together.”

“You're not just humouring me?”

“Oddly, no.  I've been thinking about it, and... this case... what these girls have lost... I don't want there to be any missed opportunities for us.”

“We'd better get back to my place, now.”

“Why?”

“Because, as you pointed out, my flat – my couch and bed – are closer.  Because there's an opportunity going to waste if we sit here any longer.”

James smiled fondly, stood, and pulled his keys out of his pocket.  “Come on, then.”

***

**Two weeks later.**

James returned to the office with the forensics report from their current case.  The office was unusually empty for mid-afternoon, with most of the team out on routine enquiries or chasing up other results and reports.

“The ballistics are incon–”  Lewis was staring thoughtfully out the window and hadn’t noticed James’s return.  James took advantage of the rare moment of privacy.  “Robbie?”  He was rewarded with a tender smile.

“Just had a call from Professor Chambers at Lady Matilda’s,” Lewis said.  “She thought we might like an update.”

“Oh.”  James sat down.  He’d seen the toll the sudden death of a student could take on those closest to the deceased.  Some rallied, some didn’t.

“Both Gerald Thompson and Corinne Lucas are receiving counselling, and had the full support of their colleges if they chose to intermit their studies.  Thompson’s opted to take a break for the remainder of the academic year, but Corinne’s continuing.  And, the exhibition Shelley Lang was working towards will open next week as a memorial to Shelley.”

“Really?  Did she say how Corinne felt about that?”

“It was Corinne’s idea.  After the funeral, the Lang family invited her to stay with them for a few days – they wanted to spend time with the person their daughter loved.  Shelley had told them about the piece, and had sent them a copy of the video file containing her declaration to Corinne the day before she died.  They showed it to Corinne because they wanted her to know how much their daughter loved her.  Corinne spoke to Professor Chambers, who agreed to take over as curator.”

“That’s a better outcome than I would have expected.”

“It is, isn’t it?”  Lewis’s gaze drifted back out the window.

“You want to go, don’t you?”  James couldn’t explain how he knew.

“Might be nice to see something that celebrates love, don’t you think?”

James smiled.  “I see that every day.”

“Do you?”

“I see you.”


End file.
